


Every Smallest Detail

by Lacerta26



Series: Keep Your Enemies Closer [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Harry consoles himself on a job undone by getting a drink at his hotel. Merlin had sent him out to meet with an agent from a rival agency in an attempt to negotiate an end to the ongoing turf war they had been embroiled in for decades but she hasn’t shown. So much for inter-agency diplomacy. So, Harry sips his scotch and watches his fellow patrons; his chief focus an incredibly beautiful boy at the other end of the bar.





	Every Smallest Detail

Harry consoles himself on a job undone by getting a drink at his hotel. Merlin had sent him out to meet with the head of a rival agency in an attempt to negotiate an end to the ongoing turf war they had been embroiled in for decades but she hasn’t shown. So much for inter-agency diplomacy. So, Harry sips his scotch and watches his fellow patrons; flexing his observational muscles to spot affairs, dodgy business deals and people drowning their sorrows. Harry’s chief focus is currently an incredibly beautiful boy at the other end of the bar; his suit is off the rack but if anyone could carry it off its him, he’s gorgeous, maybe 25-26, much too young for Harry, with a sharp jawline and clear green eyes. He looks like a classic city boy; overpaid and full of himself, used to bossing people around and getting what he wants in his Canary Wharf office. Harry is familiar with the type, thankful that his sojourn in the army and eventual recruitment to Kingsman saved him from becoming one of them; his brother was never so lucky.

Harry stares for longer than is strictly polite, long enough to notice there’s something soft in the boy too, the slump of his shoulders and the downturned moue of his mouth. A bad day perhaps, losses on the trading floor or has he been shouted at by a bigger, posher, richer boss? He’s far too beautiful to be sat here alone, staring morosely into his pint, that’s for sure, and after the day Harry’s had he feels duty bound to cheer them both up. Harry’s got a room upstairs and nowhere to be tomorrow; either the boy will be a tosser Harry can put in his place or a revelation, yielding to a practiced hand and a kind word. Harry isn’t a spy for nothing; he knows this boy likes men, spends enough time on grindr, for his sins, to know how the youth signal to each other these days, something Kingsman didn’t have to teach him. He knows he won’t strike out on that score and a handsome older man in a good suit is everyone’s poison, surely.

Decision made, Harry knocks back his drink and strides over, settles casually against the bar at the boy’s elbow. At first, he startles giving Harry a look which strongly suggests he fuck off given the bar is otherwise empty, providing ample places for Harry to lean that are nowhere near him. But Harry watches his whole demeanour change, as he takes in Harry’s suit, the length of his legs and the lean strength of Harry’s body, from one of actively hostile distrust to guarded interest, his body opening out and turning towards Harry unconsciously. Harry doesn’t like to be too full of himself, dismisses Merlin’s accusations that he’s a narcissist of the highest order, but it is gratifying to see the effect he has wrought so explicitly across the face of a stunning young man.

‘Would you permit me to buy you a drink?’ 

‘Er, sure, yeah. Another pint of Stella, ta,’ says the boy, momentarily surprising Harry with his appalling choice of drink and his honest to god South of the river accent. It’s not even the atrocious approximation so many posh boys seem to be affecting these days after they listen to too much grime and try to pretend to be salt of the earth with a trust fund and mummy and daddy’s country estate behind them.

Harry gestures to the barman and orders before extending a hand, ‘Harry Hart, a pleasure to meet you.’  

‘Gary Unwin. Alright?’ he still looks a bit wary but his hand is warm and firm in Harry’s and he smiles likes it’s a secret.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’

‘You’ve bought me a drink, right?’

‘By all means I can leave you to it if you would prefer.’

‘Nah, mate, go ahead.’ 

Harry slides into the stool next to him and raises his glass of scotch which Gary clinks with his pint glass, ‘cheers.’

‘Tell me, Gary, what do you do for a living?’ as opening gambits go it’s pretty weak but Gary smiles again and says, ‘what’s a chav like me doing in a fancy hotel getting chatted up by fit silver foxes, you mean?’ 

Harry smiles, acknowledges the compliment with a tilt of his head, ‘if you like.’ 

‘I work down the road for a financial adviser. I tell the super wealthy the best philanthropic use of their money.’ 

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘I guess. My clients are wankers but it helps people in the end. All my colleagues in investments hate me but it’s hard to argue with a PPE degree from Oxford even if it belongs to someone like me.’

Harry raises an eyebrow but Gary interrupts, ‘don’t tell me; you went Cambridge? I can tell.’

‘How could you possibly?’

‘Only a Cambridge graduate would come up to someone half their age in a bar.’

‘Because an Oxford man wouldn’t have the balls.’ 

‘Good things come to those who wait,’ says Gary letting his eyes drop to Harry’s mouth then further and Harry is not a man who blushes but it’s a close-run thing.

‘What do you do?’ says Gary, meeting Harry’s eyes again. Harry pauses, sometimes he’ll make up a job just for the game, to keep things simple he’ll say he’s a tailor but tonight he wants to be honest.

‘I’m a spy.’

Gary snorts into his drink, giving Harry a broad, open grin, ‘sure you are. And what internationally sensitive incident have you foiled today?’

‘Oh, this and that, don’t tell a soul.’

Gary makes the gesture of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

‘Now you’re done spying for the day what are your plans for the evening?’

‘I thought I’d buy a stunning young man a drink and see where the night takes me.’

‘Yeah? And what’s your strike out rate?’ Gary says with a glint in his eyes, tongue between his teeth like a tease and there’s a tempting flush rising on his cheeks, Harry wonders how far down his body it travels.

‘I assure you I have a 100% success rate.’

‘Bit full of yourself are you?’

‘It comes with the territory.’

‘Of being a spy.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Go on then?’

‘Invite me back to your room.’ Gary leans forward into Harry’s space; his eyes are bright and he catches his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before sitting back to take a swig of his drink.

It leaves Harry breathless, takes him a long moment to reply, ‘Don’t you think we ought to get to know each other a little better first?’

Gary looks him up and down, again, all barely restrained heat and gives Harry a lascivious leer, ‘nah, I don’t think that’s really why you came over here. Go on, I dare you.’

‘Gary, may I take you to bed?’

Gary rolls his eyes, ‘you think James Bond is that polite? Try again.’ 

Harry slides off his bar stool and extends a hand, ‘fancy a fuck, Miss Moneypenny?’

The blush blooms brighter across Gary’s cheeks but he swallows the last of his pint and hops down off his bar stool and accepts Harry’s hand, ‘lead the way.’

 

Harry tries to keep his hands to himself in the lift as it travels to his floor. He watches Gary, eyes forward watching the floor numbers flick upwards, until Gary catches his bottom lip between his teeth and Harry gives up on all pretence to reach out and settle a hand on the nape of his neck. Gary relaxes into the touch, closes his eyes and let a clipped little sigh escape his parted lips. When the lift doors slide open Harry steers Gary out of the lift with the hand still on the back of his neck until they reach the door to his suite.

They don’t speak, their teasing banter at the bar forgotten, the tension from the short lift journey unspooling and carrying them unspoken, through the small living room to the bed, freshly made by housekeeping. Here, Harry stops to properly regard Gary in the low light; the colour riding high on his cheeks and the liquid gleam in his eye making him look gauzy as if drawn in pastels on rough paper or viewed through a curtain. Gary steps closer, into the heated space between them and whispers, ‘what do you want, Harry?’

‘You,’ says Harry simply and Gary huffs a laugh against Harry’s mouth, ‘not really an answer,’ before leaning up to kiss him, a chaste press of lips, intimate.

Harry sighs into it, opens his mouth and turns the kiss filthy, all teeth and tongue.

‘That’s more like it,’ says Gary, stepping away to unknot his tie, slide his jacket off and onto the floor.

‘That’ll crease.’

He shrugs, ‘it’s only from Topman.’

‘Yeah?’ says Harry crowding forward to help Gary with the first few buttons on his shirt, ‘I know an excellent tailor.’

‘I bet you do.’ Gary says, toeing out of his shoes and socks, hands under Harry’s jacket, pulling his shirt up to find skin, digging his fingers in. Harry hisses at the first scrape of nails up his back, pressing into the muscles, and Gary sucks his teeth in surprise, ‘shit maybe you are a spy, how fit are you?’ so Harry backs him towards the bed till he falls heavily on to it, legs splayed for Harry to step between, ‘let me show you.' 

He shrugs out of his jacket, drapes it carefully on the armchair by the bed, his tie and shirt he’s less precious with, lets them fall to the floor and there’s his narcissism again when Gary’s eyes go wide and he sits up to press kisses to Harry’s stomach, well-toned and firm, especially for 52.

‘Harry, can I?’ Gary says hands already at Harry’s belt and Harry merely threads a hand into his hair to urge him on as he opens Harry’s flies. Gary licks up Harry’s cock, so hard he’s already dripping, keeps his mouth open so Harry can watch his dick slide over Gary’s tongue. He smirks round the head, looks up at Harry with wide open eyes and takes Harry’s dick almost to the root. Harry groans, head tipped back, fingers clutching in Gary’s hair which only makes him moan around Harry’s dick. Gary breaths in sharply and shifts forwards so Harry can feel the head of his dick press into the tight velvet grip of his throat.

‘You don’t…’ he starts to say but Gary looks up at him through his lashes and _swallows._ Good Lord, he looks astonishing like this; flushed, eyes shiny, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth which Harry has to press away with his thumbs as he moves, tilting his head back to take more of Harry’s prick. Gary hollows his cheeks and moans like Harry’s is the best dick he’s ever had the pleasure of getting his mouth on and Harry tugs gently on Gary’s hair, lets him suck briefly on the head of his dick, tongue flicking against the tip, ‘God, your mouth, I’ll come if you keep doing that.’

‘Yeah?’ says Gary, pulling off, letting a shiny strand of spit hang between his bottom lip and Harry's cock before leaning back on his elbows with a smirk, ‘have some other ideas, do you?’ and palms his dick, hard and trapped in his trousers.

Harry very nearly growls as he goes down on one knee between Gary’s thighs, pressing him back into the mattress to snog him, grabbing both his wrists, pinning them above his head, ‘I’m going to fuck that cheek right out of you for a start.’

Gary grins against Harry’s mouth, hooks an ankle round Harry’s leg and somehow manages to flip them so Harry’s flat on his back on the bed, breathless. Harry has always thought there was something quite ridiculous about a man with his dick poking out of his trousers; all a bit Carry On, like he should be flicking a raincoat over himself with Kenneth Williams in the corner turning down his mouth and winking but under Gary’s strong thighs, the object of his hot and heavy-lidded gaze he feels worshipped.

Gary takes a hold of Harry’s dick, still shiny wet from his mouth and gives it a couple of lazy, slow strokes that have Harry making an embarrassingly high pitched noise in his throat. He’s taking off his shirt now, slow passes of his hands over the buttons, revealing a body that indicates higher than average dedication to the gym. Harry can’t help whistling through his teeth at the sight. Gary grins down at him, rolls his body in a perfect curve that could rival Magic Mike himself.

‘You’ve more than one hidden talent I see,’ Harry says, splaying his hands over Gary’s abs, hot and tense underneath his fingers before drifting his hands round to grip at his hips. 

‘I used to be a gymnast,’ says Gary like that’s a standard sort of first date admission and Harry is well and truly fucked if he’s thinking of this as a first date.

‘Were you now? You’ll have to show me what you can do some time,’ _next time,_ he thinks.

Harry must have done something very saintly in a past life because this boy is a treasure; by turns brazen and coy, looking at Harry through his lashes with a leer, ‘how about I show you how well I can ride your cock?’ and Harry has to pull him down for another kiss, whispers into the hot breath between them, ‘lube and condoms in the bathroom.’ 

Gary grins, slides off the bed leaving a heated trail of kisses down Harry’s neck, chest, pressing a final teasing kiss to the head of his dick before heading out of the room. 

Harry breathes out shakily, listens to Gary click the light on in the bathroom and root around in the toiletries by the sink. He needs to claw back some modicum of control, this boy with his sweet kisses and dirty mouth, already more than the quick fuck Harry had been planning for, has got him more turned on than he’s been in months, pleasure sparking skittishly under his skin, desperate for the next touch. When he steps out of the bathroom, backlit by the shining white light, Gary has already lost his trousers and boxers. His body is criminal thinks Harry, surely no-one with a sedentary desk jobs looks like that? And Harry should know but before he’s able to follow that train of thought Gary is clambering back on to the bed, pulling Harry’s trousers and briefs down and Harry doesn’t even notice that they end up in a heap on the floor so intent is he on the gorgeous creature in his arms. Gary settles on top of him and Harry indulges in some slow, deep snogging, hooking his fingers in the hinge of Gary’s jaw, encouraging him to tip his head back so Harry can scrape his teeth along his throat, follow the sudden rising heat under Gary’s skin with his tongue.

‘Hey,’ says Gary, voice deep in his chest, hips rocking gently against Harry’s, ‘what will everyone in the office say if I come in tomorrow covered in hickeys?’

‘Say you were seduced by a spy who knew exactly how to give you a good time,’ says Harry a mite more breathlessly that he intended which he makes up for by sinking his teeth into the juncture between Gary’s neck and shoulder just to hear him moan.

‘Are you sure it wasn’t me doing the seducing?’ laughs Gary.

‘I’m sure I don’t recall,’ says Harry rolling Gary off him, reaching for the lube abandoned at the end of the bed.

‘How do you want me?’ says Gary, over his shoulder. 

‘Just like this,’ Harry runs his hands up Gary’s calves, the back of his thighs, encouraging him to open his legs by gripping a handful of his arse in each hand. Gary goes pliant, easy, spreads his legs so Harry can stroke his now lubed fingers between his arse cheeks, over his hole and he rolls his hips back into the sensation of Harry’s finger pressing inside him. Harry moves slowly, gently, waits until Gary’s bitten moan tells him he’s found right spot, ‘shit, Harry, yeah, right there,’ and he goes back in with two fingers unerringly efficient. He keeps going, soft passes with his fingertips until Gary is writhing against him, trying to rub his cock, dripping and shiny, on the sheets below him and ram himself back on to Harry’s fingers. Harry slides out, stroking gently at the rim of Gary’s hole, can’t resist crowding in close so Gary can feel his dick hot and hard against the back of his thigh, to lean down and mouth wet kisses up his spine and across his shoulders, whisper in his ear, ‘you like that? Are you ready for my cock? Do you want me to fill you up properly?’

‘Yes, come on, yes,’ says Gary, rocking back so Harry’s dick slides in the damp crease of his arse, leans down, his shoulders on the mattress, a gift.

Harry tuts, ‘I thought you wanted to sit on my dick?’

‘No, like this.’

‘Brat.’

Gary reaches back, shameless, pushes his middle finger into his hole and moans, ‘if you won’t I’ll do it myself,’ and how can Harry resist the sight of this boy fucking himself on his own fingers? He bats Gary’s hand away, fumbles on a condom, grips him by the hips, lines up and slides his cock into the heat of Gary’s body in one long thrust that has Gary slumping back on to the bed with a whine.

Harry sets up a punishing rhythm, fucking into Gary so hard the headboard would be banging against the wall if there was one. On every thrust Gary gasps as Harry’s dick hits his prostate and the stream of filth that comes out of his mouth, bitten pink, only spurs Harry on, ‘that’s it, there, again, harder. I wanna feel this all week. Want everyone to know what you’ve done to me when I walk out of here.' 

If he can still talk in full sentences Harry definitely isn’t doing enough so he pulls out, hauls Gary up and round on shaky legs so he can knee-walk up the bed in to Harry’s lap and back on to his dick. Like this, facing each other, they can kiss messy and wet as Gary works himself down on Harry’s cock. Harry scrapes his teeth, his tongue along Gary’s collarbones, takes a hold of his dick in one slick hand and murmurs, ‘I want you to come for me.’ He can feel it building, the way Gary drops his forehead to Harry’s shoulder and his hips start moving in grinding little circles, just enough to push his dick into the tight grip of Harry’s hand and he’s coming, like in slow motion, coating Harry’s hand, their stomachs. He keeps moving his hips, squeezing down on Harry’s dick, turns his face into Harry’s neck, ‘on my face, Harry, come on,’ and before Harry’s brain has caught up Gary is on his knees at the side of the bed. The room is much darker now, the only light coming from the bathroom, how long have they been up here, and Gary glows golden, head tipped back, mouth open and expectant. Harry doesn’t second guess it, slips off the condom, strokes his prick quickly as Gary closes his eyes, watches the lines of come paint Gary's cheekbones, catch in the inky sweep of his lashes. He makes a show of licking his lips, swallows theatrically before carefully opening his eyes with a grin and surging upwards to tackle Harry to the bed for a kiss.

Eventually Harry has to put his foot down, climb out of bed with a last kiss to Gary’s cheek, finds a flannel in the bathroom to clean them off, Gary curled in the bed like he owns the place.

‘I should go,’ says Gary, sitting up.

‘You don’t have to. Stay the night,’ it’s academic, surely, most of the night is already gone. 

‘I have work in the morning.’

‘Call in sick.’

Gary looks at him, considering, and allows himself to be pulled back down into Harry’s arms.

 

Harry wakes, alone in the bed, to the deafening silence of an empty hotel suite. The other side of the bed is cold so Gary must have scarpered some time ago. Harry tries not to feel too disappointed; despite his many charms, one night stands with a boy like that are a rarity at his age. He reaches out for his glasses ready for the bollocking he’s bound to get from Merlin, only they’re not where he left them. Harry sits up, does a quick stock-take of the room; he’s always careful to be precise and tidy, especially if he’s only staying a night. His umbrella is not leaning against the wall by the door, his watch and glasses are gone from the bedside table and a cursory fumble in his jacket tells him his lighter is gone too.

‘Shit,’ he says to the room at large, ‘oh, fuck.’ Collapsing back on to the bed rustles the sheet of hotel notepaper that had been carefully left on the pillow beside him. Harry closes his eyes for a moment but one can never delay the inevitable, looks down at the note Gary has left for him.

 

Clarissa’s sorry for missing your scheduled meeting,

thanks for the tech though, that’ll be really

useful. X

 

And the fucking cheek of him, a phone number.

Harry’s phone is mercifully still plugged in at the side of the bed. He ignores the numerous missed calls and messages from Merlin, stabs in the number, probably too forcefully.

Gary answers on the first ring, ‘Alright, Harry?’

‘Gary, you little shit.’

Gary just laughs.

‘We were meant to be negotiating an end to this petty rivalry.’

‘Come on now, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone.’ 

‘That wasn’t friendly competition! That was…it was…’

‘A fucking fantastic shag, Harry. Now, did you ring me to have a go ‘cause I nicked your shit or to ask me out on a second date?’

‘I…I…’ Harry glances at the ceiling, steels himself, Merlin can never know about this, ‘when are you next available?’

‘Same time next week? I’ll text you the address. Maybe you can even the score a bit, eh?’

‘You are unbelievable.’

‘I know, ta. Oh, Harry, by the way, you can call me Eggsy, if you like.’ 

‘Eggsy, OK. Eggsy, listen you might want to jot that down because if you thought last night was something next time I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name.’

‘Threats now, is it? I’ll be sure to mention that in my report. See you, Harry!’

‘Bye, Eggsy,’ Harry echoes, slumping back into the pillows. God, he fucking loves being a spy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm trying to write something with an actual plot at the moment so naturally I'm procrastinating with this sort of nonsense. I couldn't decide if this is exactly as it seems or something Harry and Eggsy are playing at so imagine whatever takes your fancy.
> 
> Title from The Spy Who Loved Me.


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